


The Clock Strikes Twelve

by SiryyGray



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hospitalization, Medical Inaccuracies, Parental Riza Hawkeye, Parental Roy Mustang, Post-Promised Day, Team as Family, non-graphic depiction of illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25659775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiryyGray/pseuds/SiryyGray
Summary: After the Promised Day, Ed learns that getting impaled through the arm isn’t exactly something you can just walk off.He’s in a lot more danger than anyone realizes.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric & Riza Hawkeye, Alphonse Elric & Roy Mustang, Edward Elric & Riza Hawkeye, Edward Elric & Roy Mustang
Comments: 92
Kudos: 568





	The Clock Strikes Twelve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vermellion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vermellion/gifts).



> CW: Depiction of Sepsis and most of its symptoms/ treatments.

At first, Ed thought it was just exhaustion.

Why wouldn’t he? The hospital kept the lights low in his and Al’s room—something about his eyes needing adjust to, you know, _existing_ —and they only ever bothered him when bringing stale food or replacing saline bags.

Ed would be sleeping through most of the day. Getting shrapnel dug out of his shoulder took a lot out of him so his time was spent dozing. Al was barely conscious enough to smile and wave to people coming by during visiting hours before getting yanked back into dreamland.

Ed was glad. He had years of sleep to catch up on and, as much as he wanted to talk with his brother, he was also still dead on his feet.

Granted, he also dragged himself out of bed a good amount of times simply because he would get tired of fidgeted and counting the cracks upon the ceiling.

Which was fine. It was, really.

You know, _at first_.

Then his eyes decided to tilt sideway and he was suddenly on his knees, gripping the wall-railing in the dead of night. Ed sunk down, right arm still sluggish from atrophy while the left started to _burn_. He stayed put until the pain lessened and he relearned the fine art of balancing on his own damn feet.

Al was awake when he stumbled back to bed and gracelessly face planted into his pillow.

“Brother?”

“Muummph.”

He heard the shifting of fabric but couldn’t be bothered to berate Al for trying to get up.

Pot, kettle. He knows the drill.

“Are you okay?”

Ed unburied his face from the sheets and gazed over to the younger, blinking away the haze. “Yeah, I’m good. Arm just hurts.”

Al frowned, head tilted. He nodded after a long moment and settled back against his throne of cushions—curtesy of Izumi, of course—with a fond glare. “You should stop sneaking out. You’re going to make the recovery slower.”

“I can’t help that I’m bored.” He muttered indignity. Al huffed and pulled his blanket right up to his nose.

“Just ask the nurses to help you go out for a walk. Or go visit someone! Almost everyone we know is here anyways.” Ed waved him off and let himself slip away into a blank, static filled dream.

When he woke up, the hole running through his arm felt warm and the back of his neck was sticky. By the end of the day he’d firmly developed a fever. “It’s low grade,” a young nurse explained, “there’s a good chance it’s from all the stress you’ve been under physically. Do you have any allergies?”

Ed shook his head. The nurse nodded, pulling a clipboard from thin air to scribble something down. “We’ll keep you on just the saline for now, but if it gets worse, there is fever-reducers. Though, you might be able to sleep it off.”

He slumped back with a grumble. “Peachy.”

“It could be worse.” Al mused as the nurse scurried off to save lives or whatever. Ed doused his expression in annoyance and watched a small, cheeky smile appear on his brother’s face. It made him feel warm.

Actually, that might just be the fever in his cheeks.

Ed cautiously got up anyways and shuffled onto the small bed Al was practically living on. “Turn around, will ya? You look like you got rats in your hair.”

The younger complied. He almost melted as Ed braided his long, brittle hair into as many twists and flourishes as he could. Ed chuckled, watching Al hum softly because touch was brand new and apparently the best damn thing in the world.

Have been deprived of physical senses for so long, even shaking hands was a thrill for the younger. Ed would watch him light up and shiver when someone bushed his arm or rested a hand on his head. Ed tied off the mess of plaits and didn’t mention that it was because his hands had started to tremble.

A few hours later, Al slyly pulled out the band and shrugged in a mockingly woeful way. “Oh no,” He drawled, “it came undone.” It became a routine.

Which was ridiculous. Mostly because the idiot could easily _ask_ Ed to mess with his hair with no protests. He didn’t mind. It was a pleasant feeling, really. Maybe Al just wanted an excuse to practice looking smug. Each time, Ed played right along and sat crosslegged behind the younger, combing and twisting to satisfaction.

“Your hands are warm.” Al commented. Ed shrugged and chugged right along with the fishtail braid he’d started.

* * *

Chills were a problem that night.

They followed quickly after the fever sprouted up and most of the evening was spent curled on his side, carefully letting his left arm lay flat to keep the fiery sting to a minimum and alternating between staying snuggled within a mountain of comforters and kicking away anything that dared to touch his skin.

Ed felt vaguely unwell during the day, like he was constantly about to come down the the flu.

He passed off his breakfast and Al shot him strange looks. He glared back and stuck out his tongue. Then regretted it because the sour taste of the hospital air made him cough. Al laughed at him, his worry dissolving. His port was aching and head pounded lightly, like someone banging the skin of a drum, only _just_ loose enough that it wouldn’t escalate to a migraine.

Ed slipped into the hallway and chased down a nurse when he started to feel like he _actually_ might throw up. He briefly explained, hand locked on the pole holding his IV, and her brow furrowed. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

“I dunno, maybe a day or so. Could I just get some anti-naesuants?”

She pursed her lips, looking him over critically. “I’ll have some brought to your room. Have your bandages been changed regularly?”

Ed blinked. “What?”

“The bandages.” The nursed gestured to his arm. “Has anyone been keeping them clean?” He leaned against the wall precariously and thought back.

The hospital had been pretty overrun since the Promised Day. The ICU had been expanded into other wings with the amount of folk in need of medical attention. Ed was hardly a priority in the rush of bloodied people, soldiers and civilians alike.

It had been a week, so things had settled, but the whole building was still basically vibrating with franticness, drowning in the aftermath. Someone had been by to switch the wraps over his arm once or twice though.

He straightened up and nodded. The nurse chewed her lip, muttering to herself as she slowly turned on her heel.

“Alright. I’ll speak with your doctor about it. Stay hydrated, please. It should help the nausea.” He watched her go, stomach churning in lazy circles.Ed sighed, fiddling absently with the bandages as he made his way back to his room. Halfway down the corridor, he froze.

Ed’s throat lurched and he darted into the nearest restroom.

He had no idea how long he was inside, but it all thoroughly _sucked_. He spat, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“Fuck.” Ed breathed, hunched over the sink. He ran the water for a while, rising the taste of bile from his mouth and washing away the evidence. He downed the pills found waiting on his bedside table and promptly crashed.

“You feel sick?” Al asked, watching his brother. Ed would’ve rolled his eyes if they weren’t already dropping shut.

“No, I just wanted to try ‘em for fun.” He painted the words in shades of sarcasm and sent them like verbal projectiles, only hampered by the fact that he was murmuring through a cocoon of blankets.

Teacher came by for a visit before being discharged later that day. She held Al so tight Ed worried she’d break a rib, smiling into the crown of his head. “The laws of alchemy never stood a chance.” She said proudly.

She turned to Ed with a tiny, familiar smile. The one that she would wear when the words ran off and left her frustrated, but still fond. Izumi moved to give him a proper, well earned hug as well, but Ed held up his hands. “Hard pass. I don’t wanna risk getting sick or something.” Her casual demeanour faded a little, head tilting.

“Sick?”

“Yeah. _Apparently_ stress can make you feel like garbage, so I’ll pass on the whole getting-my-lungs-squeezed-out thing.” He offered a weak smile.

She frowned in response. Ed exchanged a baffled looked with Al.

She rapped her knuckles against his head once and dropped something into his lap. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

He looked down to find a tin of mints. “Right,” Ed replied with a grateful nod, “thanks.”

“Ed,” Al started after she’d left, “shouldn’t you tell the hospital staff?”

“I did.” He assured. “The nurse said she’d check in with a doctor and that it was probably nothing to worry about.”

Al frowned. “Yeah, okay. But you _never_ get sick. Not unless there's a storm.”

“I also _never_ punch deities in the face, so.”

His brother sighed, fiddling with the tape holding his IV in place. Ed padded around to his bed and sat down, an arm slung gently across his frail shoulders. “Quit worrying. Some flu symptoms are hardly the worst thing I’ve delt with.” The younger poked at Ed’s hand, looking at it carefully, a gleam of trepidation over his eyes. “Al, seriously. _You’re_ the one who’s being fretted over! I can handle a damn fever.”

* * *

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

He couldn’t handle the damn fever.

Ed woke up in a daze and couldn’t seem to shake the clouds hanging over him. Al said he looked bad. He felt awful and his legs shook when he tried to stand. All he’d wanted to do was pilfer abucket from the restroom in case his stomach decided to turn itself inside out, but his limbs stubbornly refused.

Ed sat on the edge of his bed, facing the wall away from Al, hands locked on his knees and trying not to sway.

Someone in the doorway knocked twice.

Al brightened. “I thought you were still on bed watch!”

“They cut me loose yesterday.” Hawkeye's voice replied easily. Ed turned, scrubbing a hand over his face and giving her a watery smile.

Her kind expression wilted. “You alright?”

“Just under the weather.” Al supplied. Ed shot a him a thankful look and went back to biting back his very persistent gag reflex. He did mange to pivot, legs crossed and his arms wrapped around a pillow.

He mostly listened. “How are you two? It’s been a while.”

Al was practically glowing. “As well as can be expected.”

“You know,” Hawkeye started, finding herself a chair and setting it close to Al’s bedside, “it’s good to finally _see_ you. As you are now, I mean.”

Al nodded cheerily. Ed’s smile turned to a grimace and he hid his face in the cushion. “I’m still getting used to it, if I’m being honest.”

They chattered, trading small talk pleasantly. Ed just felt hot, dizzy and unbearably sick. He was tempted to ask her to leave so he could be miserable in peace, but it would only make Al worry. Besides, his brother was beaming. Ed couldn’t take that away. Instead he listened to a nagging thought, one buried deep in the back of his mind that he’d been shoving off for the past few days.

“Hey, Lieutenant?”

Hawkeye glanced towards him. Ed caught sight of the white stripes cradling her neck and belatedly noted how voice just a little lower than normal. “Yes?”

“How’s the Colonel?”

She paused, eyebrows pitched down in thought. “Recovering.” She decided on.

“Did Marcoh return from Havoc’s place?” Al asked. She nodded.

“Yesterday. The Colonel told me everything is still pretty hazy, but all the nurses are saying it’s perfectly normal. He wanted to come by and talk but…” Hawkeye glanced between them. “I think he’s worried you two’ll be angry.”

Ed might’ve questioned her if the room wasn’t swimming. A staring spell fell over him and his lungs gave him the middle finger.

Distantly, he heard Al. “Because he used a Philosophers Stone.”

“That’s right.”

_Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up._

Ed shut his eyes and tried to focus on Al’s voice. On the sound of Hawkeye’s heel tapping restlessly against the floor. It just made him feel more dizzy. His grip loosened on the pillow. 

“We’re not.” Al was saying, hands held out placatingly. Ed tried to exhale but the air stuck to his ribs. “Well, I’m not. My dad told me about how the people in the stone are just hurting until they get used up. I can’t be mad. I’m sure—“

Al caught his eye and he paused. “Brother?” Ed stared down, legs both swung over the edge of the bed and trying to will himself to not feel nauseated. It wasn’t working. Hawkeye rose from her chair.

“Ed?”

His chest seized and _shit he was definitely going to lose it_.

Ed met Hawkeye’s gaze. His jaw locked and he fully intended on making a break for a washroom or any drain, really. But Ed collapsed before he took the first step.

Ah. Right. His legs had still be rather shaky, hadn’t they?

He hit the ground hard, curling on his side. There, past the clouds shading his eyes, Ed heard a sharp cry and footsteps. Ed felt the burning in his arm spread, leaping to his nerves like it was a damn jungle gym and making him sputter for air.

“—ear me? Ed?” He could barley make out the words through the fluttering thrum of blood in his ears. Someone gripped his shoulder and he almost choked as the throb crept up to his collar rapidly.

“What happened?!” That sounded like Al. Aw shit. Ed had made him worry again. Now he’d have to deal with being badgered into sleep and chugging painkillers. Not that he would really complain at this point. “Lieutenant? What’s going on?” Al seemed scared.

Ed’s ears were starting to ring and his gust twisted violently. A cool—freezing, ice cold—hand pressed against the back of his neck. It pulled away quickly.

“I rang the nurses so Al, you st…” Her voice was swallowed up but the trilling hum in his head. The floor was spinning drunkenly beneath him.

“Ed,” Hawkeye was kneeling beside him, trying to get his attention, “listen, I need you to tell me what’s wrong. So I can tell the nurses.” It took a monumental effort, but his pried his eyes open and forced himself to look up at her through his hair. She carefully brushed it aside, face pinched with unadulterated worry.

“You were feeling sick, weren’t you?”

Understatement. _Big fucking understatement_. His organs were pulling themselves apart, threaded with a hot pain, all of it stemming from where the rebar had torn through his skin and muscle. He nodded anyways. “Arm hurts. A lot.”

Hawkeye’s hand was back, grazing his skin and feeling freezer-burned. She kept two fingers pressed to his neck. Ed realized she was trying to gauge his heart rate. It felt like a racehorse.

Her expression remained steady, but her eyes grew more alarmed. “Which one?”

“Left. T-the…” He swallowed thickly. “Rebar.” Ed managed to grind out. “Where it went through.”

Hawkeye’s gaze flickered to his arm, but she didn’t touch him. “Okay. Okay, what else?”

“I-I can’t… breathe right…” He rasped.  
There came footsteps thundering through the hall, reverberating across the floor and directly into Ed’s skull. He winced and shut his eyes. Someone pulled Hawkeye aside and Ed, to his absolute dismay, damn near reached out to pull her back.

Her hand was cold. It felt nice.

He barley registered voices babbling to each other. Al’s cut through them all. “Wait! You can’t just—what’s going on?!” He cried out. If Ed had any control over his limbs, he would’ve tried to get up. At the very least make eye contact with his brother to reassure him.

The nurse he’d seen a few days earlier came into view while rubber-coated hands prickled over his arms and back, their owners hissing to each other softly. She lowered herself almost to eye-level, crouched forward. “Edward? Do you feel nauseous?”

Ed nodded slowly. She turned, a faceless hand offering her what looked like a shallow bucket. “Let me know if you feel like you might throw up, okay?”

“…’Kay.” He tried not to choke, biting his tongue to keep from yelping when his arm was held aloft for inspection.

“We have to move you.” She said, gentle but stern. A set of firm fingers wrapped around his left wrist, stabilizing his arm while the nurse counted down from three. They shifted him into recovery position,weakened arm tucked beneath his head and his stomach positively _rolled_.

Ed meet the young woman’s eyes urgently as his jaw tightened and the taste of sickness welled. She scrambled for the bin and helped him sit up just enough to choke out what food he’d managed to swallow earlier in the day.

Ed fell back against the floor, letting his forehead rest on the blessedly frigid tiles. There were people steadying him, twin sets of knees lightly pressing into his back while their owners spoke frantically.

“We need to take off the bandages!” There was a tug at his arm. 

“Do it carefully. Don’t rip up any of the scabbing.”

“How high is the fever?” Something cool and smooth was held against his skin for a few moments.

“It’s at thirty-nine point seven.”

“Pulse?”

“Fast. Uneven.”

“His blood pressure is probably dropping. Where’s the transport?! We rang for them ages ago!”

“T-transport..?” Ed asked. It was barely a whisper. The nurse offered a feeble smile.

“This room isn’t equipped properly.”

He grit his teeth and did his very best to sound forceful. Too bad his voice was wavering and thin. “I can’t.” He drew in another heaving breath. “I can’t leave A-Al.”

“Aw, kiddo I’m sorry.” She sounded sincere. It did little to comfort him. Ed didn’t want to be separated from his little brother. Not when he was still in and out of sleep and hypersensitive to _everything_. Al still needed someone to anchor him down to the real world and remind him that _they were okay_ —

Ed felt his arm jerk to one side and his vision went black. It only lasted a moment, but when he blinked away the dancing spots and refocused on what was in front of him, the scene had changed just a little. It was louder.

“Definitely an infection.”

Ed stiffened and tried to search for whoever had spoken. His attention was called back to the nurse. “Edward? Ed?” She tapped his cheek. He raked his eyes over to her and wanted to pass out so desperately, because the aching through his entire left side was awful.

It was tense and piercing, like someone had pulled the sinew and tissue taut and let the seams pop one by one. His eyes drifted, but the nurse blocked his view. “Hey, look at me.” She said, smiling down at him lightly. “Don’t mind them, kiddo. Just focus on me, try to keep your eyes open.”

There was the low rumblings of wheels being carted over the tiles. He tried to stay awake. He really did. But when several pairs of hands tensed around him—arms, legs, torso, one slipping below his head—and someone counted down from three, unconsciousness slammed him down.

* * *

Roy had been rounding the corner on his way to speak with Ed and Al, hand glued to the railing running along the wall. Roy was still seeing out of focus, but it was doable. He was barely above the cut of legally blind.The voice of his Lieutenant hit him before he was within eyeshot. “He said he can’t breathe right!”

It made him break into a jog. She never sounded that… _fearful_.

He was greeted with the sight of Ed being pushed away on a gurney, half a dozen nurses crowded around and shouting, moving in a dead sprint. They whizzed by him and Roy stumbled back. He watched them rush off, caught between shock and confusion. Slowly, he turned to see Hawkeye standing in the doorway, looking unkempt. Al’s voice cut through the air, presumably calling to the blonde woman. “Why are they going to the ICU?”

Hawkeye didn’t say anything, just stared ahead, past Roy as though he wasn’t there. There was a soft hiss of rubber on metal, followed by a clatter. Roy’s feet were stuck in place and his mind was reeling. He didn’t even have time to appreciate the sight of Alphonse Elric, wheeling into the corridor, made of flesh and blood ( _flesh and fucking blood_ ) because Ed was apparently on his way to the intensive care unit.

“Lieutenant?” Roy stepped forward. She stayed in place, but the tension in her shoulders seemed to unravel.

“He just… collapsed.” Hawkeye said quietly.

His heart firmly lodged itself in his throat.

* * *

They were flanked by two nurses, one young and rather angry, the other a full head taller and his hair clipped short. The young woman introduced herself as _Anne_ , the other was too busy with his nose buried in a folder and muttering to himself. They were leading them through the maze of hallways, Hawkeye pushing Al along and Roy’s own hand practically adhered to one of the handles. Both for safety and to quell his unease.

Anne was making a valiant effort to hold back her tone, but Roy heard the slips. Where the discussion turned into an argument and she jammed her hands into her pockets.

“It’s gotta be.” The male nurse said. “Even as an amputee, he’s way too young for any kind of heart attack or a stroke.”

“We don’t know that.” Anne stressed, pointing to the papers in his hands. “Damn near a third of the population develops a patent formed ovale—“

He shook his head. “He’s got all the symptoms of sepsis.”

“But sepsis doesn’t have a slow onset! It takes hours and Edward spoke with me a few days ago. He asked for anti-nauseants. If it was blood poisoning—“

“ _Blood poisoning?_ ” Al asked, the words breathless.

“A technical term.” The nurse tried to tell him, but his gaze was already glassy with panic.

“He… he got worse through the night.” Al breathed, horrified and alarmed.

“What?” Anne looked down at him. They stopped moving, all eyes trained on Al.

“It had just been a low grade fever. But I know— _he said_ —“

“Al, slow down.” Roy placed a hand on his shoulder. God it was _thin_ … “What happened?”

He avoided looking at them, hands fidgeting. “Teacher gave him mints. She only ever did that when I got the flu, back when we were kids. It helps with the taste after you throw up. I didn’t know that it would get like this…” His voice shook. Roy thought Al might cry.

“I didn’t know.”

Anne knelt in front of the boy. He could hear the smile in her voice. “You did exactly what you were supposed to. You called for help when he needed it.”

The younger bowed his head and they continued onward. Roy sincerely wished he could see people’s faces beyond lines and colours because he couldn’t tell if the woman was lying, or even watch the reaction of her colleague. His grip on the handle tightened. Hawkeye looked to him, but stayed quiet.

It took the entire trip into the ICU for the shock to wear off. Al gripped the arms of his wheelchair so hard Roy though his fingers would break.  
When they arrived at the right room, a middle aged woman was standing there, waiting for them. There was something black and silver around her neck and Roy was relatively confident this was the doctor overseeing Ed.

In the ICU.

_Fuck._

She nodded to the nurses and they both hesitantly took their leave. Anne was sent into the shuttered room. Roy caught sight of a lot of white and could nearly feel the soft whirring of machines. His gut twisted.

She explained calmly that it was, in fact, sepsis and gave them a crash course in what that meant. Impaired breathing, dangerously low blood pressure and potential organ failure. Roy had to lean against the wall whilst his hands started to shake. Al’s breathing hitched, his entire body pooling with anxiety so fierce even Roy could see it, burry vision and all.

In short, Ed’s life was in a coin toss.

Hawkeye regained her bearings first. Her voice was hard and breakable at the same time. “Will Ed… is he going to pull through this?”

“Only time will tell.” The doctor replied.

Roy scowled. “How _much_ time?”

“From now? Twelve hours.”

The response knocked the wind out of him. She might as well have dropped a stick of dynamite into his lap. Or punched the three of them right across the face.

_Twelve hours?_

It was far too long to wait. It was far to short to comprehend. Al’s fragile frame shuttered and Hawkeye went rigid. The doctor apologized to them. Twice. Then she vanished.

And the clock started to tick.

* * *

HOUR ONE

“You can’t do that!” AL cried. “You _can’t_ —he’s my brother!”

“I know.” Anne tried to placate, hands held up defensively. “I’m sorry but it’s already too crowded from the equipment. We can’t risk your chair bumping into something.”

The boy looked like he might try to hit the nurse. Riza touched his hand. “Al,”

“No!” He jerked back, face crumpling. “Please, I’ll let someone carry me in just… he’s alone.”

“You’re still supposed to be in bed.” Anne told him, arms folding strictly. “Your immune system is still compromised; you shouldn’t be in the ICU at all.”

His eyes widened. Riza shot a glare towards the nurse. She was just doing her job, but the fear written over Al's face made her want to shout at the woman to back off. “You’re going to make me _leave_?” Al rasped, leaning away from the both of them.

“I won’t. But you still can’t go in.” Anne sighed wearily. “I really wish you could, but we just can’t take a chance.”

Al hung his head with a defeated, broken huff. The Colonel was still holding the wall, gazing over at the scene with cold, un-policed fear. She felt it too, the uncertainty was loud in her ears and flooding off Al in waves that simply felt _wrong_.

Riza looked to Anne. “What about me?” She asked.

“Pardon?”

“I’m off bed watch. Can I go in and keep an eye on him?” Al’s head shot up, darting between the two women hopefully.

“I—I suppose…”

Riza ventured further. “Seeing someone he knows would keep him calm. If Ed wakes up without his brother he might do something stupid.”

“He’d probably try to get up.” Al said, shooting Riza a grateful look.

Mustang jumped in as well, basically sealing the deal with the way he could tower over Anne. “They’re right. I’d be more surprised if he _didn’t_ try anything.”

Even with his eyes still straying just off his mark, he managed to look commanding.

“Right,” She, impressively enough, didn’t falter against their stares. The nurse stepped away, lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll need to let the rest of the staff know. Wait here, please.”

They breathed a collective sigh of relief as she retreated around the corner. “Thank you.” Al breathed. “Both of you. Will you keep me updated?”

Riza softened. “Of course.” She looked to the older. “Would I be right in assuming you want to go in as well?”

He bowed his head, looking both uncharacteristically sheepish and likely relived that she understood. Without a word, she’d picked up exactly what he’d been thinking. “Yeah. That’d be good.”

Riza could see every line on his face spelling out worry and she could hardly blame him. “In shifts, then.” She offered.

Mustang nodded. Al was hugging himself tightly, staring at the closed door that stood parallel to them.

A staff member wheeled a miffed and anxious Al back to his room to retrieve his IV. He’d torn it out when Ed had stopped responding. The staff promised it would only take a few minutes, but Al was still giving them dirty looks that didn’t really belong on his face.

The moment he was gone, Riza slid down against a wall feeling exhausted and lightheaded. Mustang stiffened. “Lieutenant?”

“Seventy precent.” She whispered, both arms crossed and resting over her knees. He stepped closer, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Pardon?”

She meet his eyes, knowing he could hardly tell. It was a little grounding though. “That’s the mortality rate for blood poisoning.”

The Colonel’s face twisted, stunned by the revelation. Dread settled over them both in a sickly quilt and he dropped down beside her. Riza gripped her sleeves. “What if—“

“No.” He cut her off. “He’ll be alright. He always is. You know as well as I that Fu—that _Ed_ is strong.”

“That hardly matters now.” Riza muttered. “It’s not about being strong.”

“He’ll be alright.” Mustang repeated.

* * *

HOUR TWO

Al was sure his heart was going to stop working any moment now.

He could hear it, constantly pounding away in his head. The sensation was strange enough on better days, but with panic ironed to his skin, it became almost painful.

Hawkeye was sitting next to him, trying to make conversation but he was silent throughout most of it. Only nods or one word replies. She didn’t seem to mind.

Mustang was inside Ed’s room.

Hawkeye was trying to water it down for him, Al could tell. It hurt worse because he knew she was dedicated to honesty; she’d never bent the truth for his sake before and the fact that she had started now only made him want to drive himself through a wall.

“He was awake when I was there.” She told him. It felt like she was walking on eggshells and Al really hoped she would drop the act before his performative calm snapped in two. “You know the first thing he said?”

Al eyed her cautiously. “What?”

“ _Is Al okay_.” Hawkeye’s smile was small and a touch sad, but he returned the gesture anyways, huffing out a small laugh.

“Sounds like him.”

They lapsed back into silence. Hawkeye, at some point, quietly offered her hand. She didn’t make eye contact, gaze trained ahead. She squeezed gently when he accepted and didn’t let go.The hospital staff had started his brother on something called _vasopressors_. Miss Anne explained it would assist in improving blood pressure, but most of the medical jargon flew right over Al’s head.

He heard _it’ll help_ and that was all he needed.

“Al?”

He hummed in response. “I… I was going to call the rest of the team to let them know what’s going on. Would you prefer if they stayed elsewhere?” She asked.

“No, no.” His eye dropped to the floor, voice growing meek. “Can they come here? With me..?”

Hawkeye smiled tightly. “Absolutely.”

* * *

HOUR THREE

“Ow.”

Roy blinked, straightening in his seat.

“You’re awake.” He said, nonplussed, staring down at Ed. Who was apparently returning from a long visit with the sandman and sounded groggy beyond belief.

The kid looked like hell, to say the least. And Roy could only half _see_.

Aside from the feverish tint to his skin, he simply wouldn’t stop shivering. The nurses had limited Ed to only two blankets and it was painful to watch. His left arm was swathed in sterile strips of cloth, tied into a firm knot just below his shoulder. People had been coming inside every fifteen minutes, almost on the dot, wielding bottles or cottony bandages and Roy would watch in mild horror as Ed didn’t so much as wince through the burning of infection and sting of medicinal alcohol.

Ed squinted at him for a long moment. Roy thought he would just fall back asleep.

“Oh.” He shifted by an inch. “Why’re you here…?”

“Al isn’t allowed inside, so the Lieutenant and I are taking shifts. We’re in the ICU.” Roy explained. He kept his hand on the arm of his chair because, even hours later, they refused to keep from twitching. It might have something to do with the still healing stab wounds running through his palms, but it was irritating nonetheless. And maybe he didn’t want Ed thinking whatever was happening was unsettling enough to make him shake.

Though, it wouldn’t be entirely untrue. Hawkeye’s words alongside the doctor’s were playing on loop like a distorted record player.

“That’s… bad, isn’t it.”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t lie his way through this. For once, he couldn’t cover up the truth because Ed could probably feel it. Some stupid sickness was eating away at his health. Roy had thought that after everything was over, his friends—all the people he cared for—would be safe.

That once they’d taken care of Father and Wrath and all the rest, then surely… _surely_ he could stop watching people die.

But the world apparently decided he hadn’t been robbed of enough and was handing over a fresh platter of _hell_ as a parting gift. Roy was only feeling a fraction of the uncertainty and fear raining down on Al. He’d been despondent and vying desperately to glance into Ed’s room each time someone slipped inside.

“Hey,” There was a weak tug on his sleeve, “hey, asshole. Listen.”

He didn’t have the wherewithal to feel offended. Roy leaned forward and forced his busted eyes to drag themselves into focus, steadying on the kid, breathing shallowly but looking right at him. “Listening.”

“I’m not mad.”

Ed blinked hard and a shudder ran through him. “Not mad.” He repeated. “About the stone.”

“I—what?”

“You got your eyes fixed. Hawkeye… she said you were worried we’d yell or somethin’.” Ed’s voice was low enough that Roy had to concentrate to hear the words.

He sat backed against his chair, frowning. “I guess I was,”

“Well it wasn’t fair.” Ed managed to look miffed, even being cradled by a hospital bed and a dozen machines lined up on both sides. The younger pulled Roy’s sleeve again. He probably couldn’t move much more than that.  
  
A voice whispered how decreased circulation spelled the beginnings of organ failure. He purged the thought and shook himself back to reality, trapped in a little dim room with his dying subordinate. Who was still trying to tell him something, struggling through the words; Ed was persistent like his life depended on it.

( _Bad thought. Bad thought._ )

“You didn’t even—they _made you_ up open the stupid portal. You didn’t do anything. I can’t be mad about that.”

He briefly contemplated how smart a move it would be to reach out, but aborted the motion before it started. Ed’s feeble grip held fast to his sleeve, so he didn’t pull back.

“That’s good to hear.”

“I’m mad ‘bout other stuff though.”

Roy choked out a laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yep.” Ed nodded sleepily. “You took too long.”

“Too long?”

“To visit. Had to wait for… for this shit to happen.” Well _there_ goes his resolve. Melted into a puddle at his feet.

He blinked hard and hoped the kid was too out of it to notice. “I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

“…stupid.”

“What?”

“You’re stupid.”

He relented with a sigh. “I know. I should’ve dropped by sooner. I’m sorry.”

Ed’s expression soured and he looked a little bit more like himself. Angrier and more stubborn, the version Roy was used to seeing. “Don’t _apologize_. Just… do it next time.”

Next time? That was a nice thought. Roy grimaced, once again grasping for his ability to paint on a fake smile and speak in sugar-coated words. It wouldn’t do any good. Ed was still going to be here, death and illness hanging over him. Worry would still be pounding away with a sledgehammer at Roy’s head and Al would still be waiting outside, counting down the minutes and looking devastatingly fragile.

“Next time it is. Tell you what, give me that list of food Al wants to try. I’ll sneak something in.”

“Hah…sure.”

He still hadn’t had a chance to get used to seeing Ed with two arms. What a shitty way to see it, though.

After years of scratching and clawing their way to success, now it was some mundane infection beating him down.

It would be so pointless.

Every step the brother’s had taken in the past three year would be washed away and Roy would have to bury another—

He pinched his arm hard enough to bruise.

Nope. Absolutely not.

Ed’s hand fell away and panic made a home in Roy’s stomach. He watched the blond fade back into sleep and scrubbed at his eyes.

“ _Equivalent fucking exchange_.” He muttered to himself. “There’s nothing equal about this.”

* * *

HOUR FOUR

Riza pillowed her head against her arms, slumped against the bed and watching intently. There was a line vanishing under Ed’s shirt, stuck directly into a vein near his heart. He’d woken up twice to blink blearily and ask if he was still in the ICU. Both times Riza nodded and told him that Al was nearby.

It seemed to make the tension in his shoulders unravel, so she tucked the trick into her back pocket and made mental notes of the better things she could report back to the younger Elric.

Anne came in looking somber, carrying out the routine she and the other nurses had settled into and collecting a small sample from the central line.

Riza looked to her hopefully. “Any good news?”

Anne bit her lip. “No, not really.”

“It’s… it’s not your fault.”

“But it’s _someone’s_ fault.” The woman hissed with more force than Riza had come to expect. She glowered at the floor, hand hovering over the doorknob. “I’m going to find whoever was being so negligent. I promise, I’ll make sure they don’t just get to walk away from this.”

Riza nodded. “I appreciate that.”

Ed came to once more before she traded off with the Colonel and there was clarity in his bright, golden eyes. “If this kills me, I’m going to be pissed.” He said resolutely.

“A lot of people will be.”

He shrank back against the hard bed, his eyes flicking across the ceiling as the clearness rapidly dissolved. “Al would be sad.”

“A lot of people will be.” Riza told him again. Ed gave her a weak smile.

“You’re repeatin’ yourself, you know that?” He was gone again before she had a chance to answer.

* * *

HOUR FIVE

Even through the wall, Al could hear Ed.

His body simply wouldn’t stop trying to throw up. Even though there was nothing but stomach acid and bile, it kept going. Trying to expel a poison from the wrong part of his body. Miss Anne had to kick out Mustang when it escalated, though she did it with a sad, apologetic look.

Al wished she would stop doing that because it only made them all feel worse. That expression just made him scared. Hawkeye was sitting cross-legged beside him, still letting Al cling to her hand. Mustang stood to his left, both hands flinching and flittering about. Itching for something to do.

Miss Anne exited the room and made a B-line for them.

“So?” Mustang prompted impatiently.

“Do any of you know about the scarring over his back and stomach?”

“No…?”

She tucked her hair behind her ear with a frustrated exhale. “It looks like something ran him through.”

Al balked. “What?!”

“Don’t worry! It seems like a medical professional worked on it a good deal… but Dr. Hem is worried that something might tear with all the—“ She gestured to the door. “— _that_. If you have any information on what happened, it would help.”

The Al and Hawkeye exchanged glances, then looked to Mustang, who was still wide-eyed and slowly walking through the process of comprehension. Eventually he shook his head. “I don’t know what happened.”

Miss Anne nodded. “Okay. I… I don’t mean to be rude but you three look exhausted. Do you think perhaps you should—“

“ _No_.”

Her expression softened. “Alright.” She padded down the hall and around the corner.

“He was missing for a while.” Al said quietly. “He never told me what happened—never got the chance—but Brother was gone for a few months. Right up until the Promised Day.”

“I heard. Thought he must be lying low after the skirmish at Briggs.”

“Something might’ve happened then.”

Al’s face fell. Mustang and Hawkeye gave him sympathetic looks and he just wanted to sleep until this was all over. But that wasn’t an option, so Al forced himself to stay upright to and kept one eye trained on the clock.

* * *

HOUR SIX

Havoc, Fuery and Breda were all camped out in the hallway with Al. Falman had gotten stuck behind a car collision and wouldn’t be there for while.

It was Roy’s shift and he both hated every moment and wished the clock would slow.

It was good, being here. Because it meant he could watch over Ed and privately worry without anyone to stop him. It was also horrible, being here. Because he _had_ to watch over Ed and with pravicy came the snowballing of emotions from worry to out-and-out, blood freezing panic.

At the half hour mark he’d sprung up from his spot nestled into the rickety chair with a paper cup of coffee and frantically felt along the wall for the emergency pullstring.

His eyesight had been steadily growing sharper in tiny increments and he wanted to revert the process because what he could see was in front of him was unequivocally horrid.

Roy sincerely didn’t want to see a ventilator being put to use because Ed wasn’t able to pull in a proper breath anymore. The constant hiss of air being pumped through the rubber tubes was enough to make him want to squirm.

He watched the younger’s eyes slowly pull open into drowsy slits. He looked Roy up and down and mumbled through the plastic mask. “You look like crap.”

Roy hummed in agreement.

“Stop… with the _face_.” Ed breathed out. Each word was a challenge. “You’re makin’ me think I’m r’lly gonna die.”

* * *

HOUR SEVEN

“Do you know how to play cheat?”

“What?”

Breda waved a deck of cards, looking between Al and Riza. “The card game. Where you try to cheat.”

Al shrugged. “I guess.”

“Great. I’ll deal you in!”

Riza was given her own hand too and was immensely grateful for her peers. They were good at this. They knew how to distract and provide reassurance where she couldn’t. It hard harder for Riza—the Colonel too, she was sure—because they could see what was happening.

She had watched Ed go ashen, deathly pale before hitting the floor. Last time she had seen him, his fingers were tuning blue. Riza had been trying to taper down the severity for Al’s sake, but he could see when she bent the truth. He never called her on it, but his eyes grew more and more pained.

Havoc and Breda both had plopped right onto the floor. Fuery had the grace to find himself a chair and they huddled into a small circle.

Playing card games like children. It was a pleasant enough distraction.

Havoc held his card’s confidently. “Two queens.” He declared, placing them face down on a towering deck.

“Cheat.” The four chorused.

Havoc grumbled. “I hate this game.”

This was their second round and Riza was the reigning champion. Al followed close behind her, leading their current game with only four remaining cards. He looked less spacey, more present and making an effort to engage with the team. They’d skipped formalities and dove straight in to offer him careful hugs, ruffling his uncut hair.

He accepted it with a frail smile and nodded out thanks when they congratulated him on cheating the laws of alchemy. The three were smart, carefully dancing around the topic of Ed even though Riza herself could hear the strain and how their eyes strayed to her questioningly.

She had managed to direct them to Anne one-by-one so that it wouldn’t be too suspicious to Al. Each came back looking stricken and sat down heavily.

“Four kings.” Al said.

Havoc sputtered. “Okay you have _got_ to be cheating.”

Al flipped over the cards and the older man slapped his forehead hard enough to leave a mark. “I win.”

“How did you do that?”

Al tilted his head. “You two were bleeding the whole time.”

Fuery chuckled as Breda carelessly tossed his cards in the air. “I didn’t realize you were a little demon.”

“Runs in the family, I guess.” They fell quiet. Al winced inwardly and Riza slid her hand over his.

“Another game?” Fuery suggested. “One that maybe the rest of us can win at.”

“Have something in mind?”

“President, maybe? Something that doesn’t lend itself to having a perfect poker face.” He subtly jabbed a thumb towards Riza. She payed him no mind and instead focused on Al.

“You up for one more?”

“Sure.”

Breda made a bet with Havoc and the rest of them sighed, shaking their heads. Between the two of them, whoever lost had to go on a snack run. There was a small food court down in the main foyer of the hospital, but it was just far enough for the trip to be a hassle. So of course they went trying to pawn the task off on each other.

“Hah. I played this all the time back home.” Breda told them confidently. “You’re all walking into a trap.”

“We’ll see.” Fuery sorted their hands and, with a tactful flourish, started the game.

It lasted five minutes before everything came tumbling down. Because on his third turn, Al dropped his cards.

“I got it.” Havoc scurried forward and started to gather them up.

“What if he dies?”

They all froze.

Al was crying, staring at them all through the tears. “It was just a stupid piece of metal. He lived through so much worse a-and… it can’t happen like this. Not now. Not when we _just_ —“

  
He broke off into a quivering breath, swiping a hand across his face. Riza watched as all of the built up tension came flooding out of her teammates. They shuffled forward, each wearing varying looks of sympathy and concern. There wasn’t really a word to fit the swell of coldness that lodged in her palms and made her chest feel constricted.

“Al… your brother is going to be okay.” Riza said firmly. Her conviction was wavering and her words reflected it in shades of nervousness.

“Yeah.” Havoc planted a hand on the boy’s head. “Chief’s tough. You know that better than anyone.” Al curled in on himself, his whole frame shaking.

Breda cocked his head, offering an assuring look. “You gotta have a little faith, Al. Ed isn’t going anywhere.” The younger pulled away, glowering weakly at the ground.

“I know you’re not telling me everything. You and the Colonel,” He turned to Riza, “but please I just—don’t keep me in the dark.”

“I didn’t want you to panic.” She admitted.

“I’m already panicking!” Al cried. His voice broke as he racked a hand through his hair, pushing it from his face. “I’m going to be terrified no matter what because—because he’s in _there_!” Al pointed to the door.

“He’s sick and can’t breathe and of course I’m going to be scared.” His anger lessened. The four stayed quiet, drinking in the words. Each one was like another knock of a hammer against her heart, cracking the damn thing wide open. “I-It’s like the whole world is falling apart.”

His bit his lip, eyes squeezing shut. “I know he’s strong but you can’t just _do that_. Not telling me anything is making it worse.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. Al fixed them with a hard look, somehow filled with an air of honest-to-god authority despite the fact that he was sniffling and tears still threatened to fall.

“ _Please_. You have to tell me what’s going on.” His whispered.

Riza hardly was able to stop herself from pulling the… the _child_ before her into a hug. She felt several pairs of arms join in and Al held onto her without an ounce of shame or gracefulness.

* * *

HOUR EIGHT

There were twin tubes running into Ed’s arms for kidney dilation. He stopped waking up entirely and Hawkeye hesitantly reported that the fever had risen further. Miss Anne was hissing out an argument with the doctor about their options and the full weight of the situation came crashing over Al ad nauseam like a title wave.

Waiting, he decided, was a wicked, grotesque thing.

* * *

HOUR NINE

Anne was livid. To the point where it actually sort of scared Roy. This five-foot-one woman with rosey cheeks and polite smile was suddenly snarling and moments away from screaming.

“It was your responsibility!” She glared up at a man clutching a clipboard and backing away.

“I—“

“It was marked down for you clear as day and you’re saying you forgot?!”

Roy watched, slack jawed from across the hall. Al was staring too. Everyone was.

Anne’s hands were curled into fists. “You were assigned to check in on Edward every day. Not when it was convenient for you!”

Roy saw Al go ridged. The man looked like he was about to faint or start crying. “I know. I know. It was an accident I swear I was called to the ER a-and I _know_ that’s no excuse.” He was rambling while the rest of the staff dutifully tried to ignore the spat.

“You…?” All eyes shifted to the boy sitting in a wheelchair. “You’re the one who—“

“Al, hold on.” Havoc reached forward. Roy pushed off the wall, ready to pull him back but Al was already moving forward. He wasn’t supposed to be wheeling himself around, but here he was, moving at the speed of sound.

The male nurse stumbled when Al rolled on up to him, fury tumbling off in waves. To Roy’s shock, the boy gripped the arms of his chair and actually _stood up_.

“Al!”

“Stop that!” Anne gapped, running to grab the boy before his legs gave out.  
  
He practically fell into her grasp, glowering at the man with his head held high. “My brother could _die_. He is dying!”

Roy and Havoc both rushed forward to help Anne wrangle Al into his chair, but he fought every step of the way. “I just got back to normal. Do you have any idea what we’ve had to—what _I’ve_ had to give up?!”

The nurse covered his mouth with his hand. “I messed it all up. It’s my fault. I failed.”

Al’s breath hitched. “After _everything_ ,” Hegrowled, coiled tight, looking like he might try to hit the man, “it’s because of a dumb mistake.” Roy didn’t know Al was even capable of sounding so hateful. It was startling in the worst of ways.

The man’s face was crumpling as Al finally let himself to be eased down, face still wrenched by rage. The nurse couldn’t meet the boy’s gaze. He didn’t even raise his head up. “I’m so sorry. You can hate me. You have every right.”

Roy wrapped both arms around Al’s shoulders to keep him from lunging forward, holding him back. Anne was still scowling viciously, leading the nurse away.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Al shook beneath his grasp. “Al, listen.” Roy whispered. “I promise you. Your brother will make it through this. He’s far too stubborn not to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“ _Yes I do_.”

Al wilted. Roy wondered if his knuckles would break if he punched that nurse. It would probably hinder his recovery by a good week or so, but it would be worth it.

A voice told him that wasn’t fair. That the staff was overworked and tired. That it had been an honest, devastating mistake. But that didn’t matter much because his blood boiled hearing Al’s ragged breaths.

* * *

HOUR TEN

Ed was nosediving and the world was on fire.

It felt that way, at least.

Riza could hardly move as she heard shouts, seeing frantic technicians and nurses flood into the already cramped room. The doctor had politely asked her to step out no more than five minutes before and now she was yelling out orders. There were too many people rushing around for Riza to properly see anything, but she caught flashes of pressure-bandages and heard some of the words being cited in volleys. Chief of which seemed to be _operating theatre._

Her stomach plummeted through the floor. She stood side by side with her colleges, Al on her right looking shellshocked.

Ed was carted out of the room, pushed along as fast as possible without running into walls. They all followed, practically chasing after the babbling crowd. She watched the walls and read the signs, feeling the lump in her throat grow.

Riza was sure she’d seen bag valve mask being held over Ed’s face as they’d spirited him away. Breda had run off to call the Curtis’ and Rockbell’s. He stumbled through an explanation about them needing to know what was going on, but she heard the way his voice caught and stammered.

Blood and sickness was toiling in the air.

Al had tried to get up again and it was only the Colonel’s hand that made him stay put. They watched Ed be hauled into a bright, sterile room whilst the hospital staff pleaded that they leave. Anne managed to stave them off, explaining that… well, she called them his _family_.

Riza felt lightheaded and grasped the railing on the wall.

“What happened?” Al reached out and grabbed the hem of Anne’s uniform. “Please, what’s going on?”

Other voices joined in. Havoc from behind her leading the charge. “Did something go wrong?

“What’re you going to do?” That was Fuery, sounding so forceful and painfully out of character.

Without even thinking, her own words were added to the mix, asking and begging to know what the _hell_ they were doing in front of an operating room with surgeons fitting themselves with sterile uniforms and long gloves. All of their cajoling was silenced by the Colonel.

He didn’t even bother to raise his voice.

“Is he going to survive?”

Anne blinked at them. Someone touched her shoulder from behind. “We need you to scrub in.” They said.

She gave a quick nod to her co-worker, then looked to them, expression steeled, grim and determined. “Yes.”

* * *

HOUR ELEVEN

Al had been forced back into his room. Havoc, Breda and Fuery had been made to leave the hospital altogether. They’d protested vehemently and Fuery, of all people, had started throwing curses.

Mustang and Hawkeye were told to head back to their room as well, but there was no way they’d have left Al alone. Both had glared fiercely and parked themselves at his bedside, arms folded and refusing to move an inch from the chairs they’d pilfered.

The third time someone asked them to take their leave, Mustang went so far as to threaten arrest. The nurse held up their hands and turned on their heel, striding out the door looking mortified. Al might’ve had a chance to appreciate the gesture if his heart wasn’t writhing around like a snake without a tale, making him shiver and lift his hands to his ears in a fruitless attempt to block out the thrumming of his own blood.

They both looked dead tired. Al was torn between giving them permission to sleep—because that was what they were waiting for; searching for confirmation that he wouldn’t crumble to dust if they looked away—and pleading for them to stay.

The two officers hardly spoke, apprehension was still holding them hostage and any words would’ve been empty at best. But their presence was a tiny comfort.

They waited. Suspense was circling his throat dangerously. Al refused to cry.

Not again.

There was still a migraine chipping at his head from the last time. His eyes were heavy and begging for him to sleep. It was pointless to stress, wasn’t it? His wasted time would do nothing to change the outcome. But hope was a stubborn, resilient thing that he was stuck with.

No matter how many times he threw it away, it came crawling back and made his face feel warm.

“Alphonse?”

He looked up to find Miss Anne poking her head through the doorway. “Hi.” He responded plainly.

“May I come in?” Hawkeye rubbed at her eyes while Mustang made a sorry attempt at brushing down his mussed hair. Al nodded.

The woman stepped in and carefully shut the door behind her with a soft click. The slow deliberate nature of her actions made dread pour over him. “Miss Anne?”

She padded into the room, a paper clutched in her hand. She looked nervous.Al’s mouth opened, a harsh breath escaping. His mind jumped to the worst possible conclusion. “What happened?” He urged. She wordlessly handed him the sheet of paper.

He took it, holding the slip like it was a pin to a grenade. Al read the sheet, his eyes blowing wide. “N-no. You’re lying.”

“Al?” Mustang sounded absolutely terrified.

“No no no.” Screw not crying again, the sky was falling and he couldn’tsee straight anymore. “It’s not _fair_.” Al breathed miserably.

Anne gave him an apologetic look. His eyes burned. “His arm? You… you _didn’t_ — _“_

“He would’ve died.”

From the corner of his eye, Al saw shock plowing through the two officers. Realization followed suit and Al screwed his eyes shut.

Mustang stood abruptly, his chair knocked back and hands balled into fists. It must’ve hurt to do that. They were still healing. “You can’t’ve—He just got it back!” The man shouted.

Miss Anne shrank back, hands clasped in front of her and head lowered. “It was all we could do.”

Hawkeye brought a hand to her mouth, looking alarmed. “There,” She swallowed thickly, “there had to have been _something_.”

The nurse shook her head, sorrowful and unmoving. She promised to come back to let them know when they’s be able to see Ed. He was alive. But what should’ve been a victory just tasted sour.

It was cruel.

Miss Anne retreated from the room. Mustang dropped back into his chair heavily, head buried into his hands. Hawkeye looked dazed and pale.

Al was angry.

* * *

HOUR TWELVE

Consciousness took it’s sweet damn time gracing Ed with its presence. He clawed his way back to awareness. It took a monumental effort just to crack open his eye. A annoying thought blustered through, telling him that sleep sounded nice. But it _didn’t_. He was done sleeping and the soft buzzing that surrounded him was too tantalizing to leave a mystery.

The sight he was meet with was… odd.

Al sat in a wheelchair, a pillow held in his lap for his chin to rest upon. That in and of itself was weird because, last time Ed checked, his brother wasn’t supposed to be up without hospital personnel supervising him.

He looked exhausted and hollowed out. The more his gaze strayed, the most bizarre things got. Beside Al sat Hawkeye, hands folded and eyes shut. She wasn’t asleep, he could see the way she held herself all righted and proper clear enough. But why would she be here?

Some stray memories pushed up through the haze to remind him of his little stunt.

Okay, so that made some sense. She gets a free pass. But what the hell was Mustang doing here, sitting cross legged with his head cradled in his hands?

More memories sprouted and a realization hit him like a punch to the throat. Ed forced his eyes to open just a little more, light flooding his vision.

He caught Al’s eye. The younger stiffened, shifting forward. The two adults glanced up, gazes zeroing in on Ed’s half-lidded eyes in an instant and leaning in cautiously.

They stared for a moment

Ed carefully flexed his fingers and foot, barely twitching at all but feeling the tug of movement. He went through each limb one by one and squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s gone, isn’t it?” He croaked.

The tension washed away.

“They had to amputate.” Hawkeye said softly.

Ed huffed out a pathetic, bitter laugh. “Figures.”

Al weakly held his remaining hand.

_His remaining hand._

_Fuck._

“You scared the hell out of us, Fullmetal.” Mustang didn’t cover up the relief in his voice. For only the third time since Ed had met the man, his emotions were being worn on his sleeve.Ed couldn’t decided if it was something to be smug about, or feel guilty over.

“For once, it was unintentional.”

He was remembering what happened in excruciating, vivid detail. But still… had it been that bad? To reduce the Flame Alchemist and the Hawk’s Eye to motionless wrecks?

Ed sighed heavily, tugging his hand away from Al’s to trail over the sheets. He touched his left shoulder and choked on oxygen.

“I,” He started, “am going to fucking kill Truth.”

“Get in line. Your brother and I are going to first.”

He glared at Mustang, though the annoyance was replaced with sympathy soon enough. Ed looked over the three a little more critically.

“You guys stayed up, huh?”

“What else were we supposed to do?” Hawkeye shrugged with a strained smile. “Couldn’t leave you alone. You would’ve done something reckless.”

“…Thanks.”

Hawkeye excused herself, presumably heading to her room for a long nap. She’d well earned it. Mustang stayed put and, of course, Al was steadfast. He hadn’t said anything yet though.

“Al?”

“You almost died, you know.” Ed waited for him to continue. His brother scrubbed at his eyes. “And it’s not fair.”

“Yeah. It sucks.”

Mustang barked out a chuckle. “You sure know how to understate things.” His eyes locked with Ed’s. “He’s right, though. You were right on death’s door for a while.”

“But I’m alive, aren’t I? Can’t get rid of me that easily.” Ed said, glib and lighthearted.

Al shuddered. The Colonel turned away, eyes low, his face pulled into a grimace. “For once, can you not joke?”

“And loose all this—” He coughed. “—golden material?”

“ _Ed_.”

His mouth fell shut. Mustang never called him by name.

Elric? On occasion, sure. When he got brave he might take a quick stab at Edward. But… had he ever used _Ed_?

“Not this time.”

“Alright. Next week, then.”

Mustang was rarely this unguarded. It felt incorrect. What felt worse, thought, was seeing his little brother with tears in his eyes and a trembling frown on his lips.

Al drew in a deep breath. “ _Fuck equivalence_.”

**Author's Note:**

> A gift, to my darling best friend who Simply Likes Angst.  
> I love u.
> 
> Sidebar: In my research I learned that Ed is honestly extremely lucky that he didn't suffer from severe infection after the Promised Day.  
> Like... insanely lucky.


End file.
